


There will be blood

by Tefnout



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Background - Freeform, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Flashbacks, Investigation, Origins, Romance, Slow Burn, Traumatism, character's childhood, long story, mobster families, pandemia, parents' death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tefnout/pseuds/Tefnout
Summary: Like an ocean, Gotham swallows people. Like an abyss, cold and unforgiving, Gotham turns the strong into predators and the weak into preys. Victor Zsasz made his choice long ago. He is no prey. In the dark waters of the big city, he is the Great White Shark. But when the blood starts pouring into the water, even sharks can be devoured...





	1. Back when we were kids

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys ! I'm very happy and proud to finally get to publish this story ! if you like it, don't hesitate to give me some feedback ! I always really appreciate it !  
> I also hope that you will appreciate my style. English not being my mother tongue, I tried my very best !

Gotham City knew three things about Victor Zsasz

 

First. The man was as sadistic as he was ruthless.

Second. He was insanely meticulous.

Third. There was no point in trying to catch him.

 

Oki Akamura knew three _other_ things about Victor Zsasz.

 

First. His favorite color was blue.

Second. He had one hell of a sweet tooth.

Third. He really, _really_ , liked sharks.

 

While Zsasz enjoyed working alone, he often surrounded himself with a small group of women that the Gothamites had started calling “the Zsaszettes”.

 

Oki _hated_ that name.

 

It made her feel like an accessory, a trendy piece of fashion that could be carried around just like a purse. She had never been vocal about her displeasure though, mainly because her “being vocal” about it would have included shooting people between the eyes. Moreover, she was the quiet type and a woman of a few words. Her lack of apparent emotions had been the reason why her mother had sent her to see a psychiatrist, the reason why the said psychiatrist had probably spiraled into an abyssal depression and _the reason why_ she had never managed to keep a lover more than two hours.

She could have cared about what people thought, but Oki was convinced that her almost-sociopathic attitude was a weapon in a world were people were too often betrayed by their lack of self-control. She sometimes felt like she was born without the part of her brain that was supposed to get angry or to simply _care_ about stuff. She was never pissed off, merely irritated. Never exhausted, merely tired. Never nice, merely polite. “Hard like a rock, cold like a stone, white like a diamond, black like coal”, as the song said. She was a “nasty one” and that made her Victor Zsasz’s favorite partner in crime.

 

Of course this might have also been due to the fact they had _grown up_ together. For the vast majority of people, Victor Dimitri Zsasz was not a human being and imagining he had once been a kid was simply inconceivable. But he _had been_ a child, and a cute one at that. Oki remembered everything.

 

The day they met, she was sitting in the last row of the classroom, as far from the board as she possibly could.

Oki did not care much for school and despite her parents’ best efforts, she remained an incredibly lazy student. School _bored_ her. The little girl constantly wanted to be outside, to play and to feel what grown ups called adrenaline. This thing was like a magic potion : it made you invincible. And she craved it more than anything else in the world. Everyday, Oki would draw pictures of herself riding fast cars, jumping off moving trains or shooting bad guys while buildings exploded in the background.

Her teacher had been so concerned about the amount of violence in Oki's drawings that she had once sent her to see the school’s nurse : a blonde middle aged woman who was a carbon copy of the soccer mums living in Oki's grossly-rich neighborhood. The lady was annoying as hell and Oki had stared at her the entire time she was sitting in her office while making it her mission not to blink. She knew not blinking made grown ups uncomfortable, scared even. This was what her book on snakes called a “reptilian attitude” and people were scared of reptiles. People were _stupid._

 

Keeping them at bay was a vital need, which is why Oki cultivated the art of being a disdainful, creepy little doll. Actually, she pretty much looked like a real life _doll._ The haunted type. The “this- doll-was-not-there-when-we-left-Susan” type.

Her round face, porcelain skin and beautiful black hair made her mother so proud that every morning, she would spend a full hour choosing her daughter’s clothes -pretty pastel dresses- and making sure her fringe was impeccable. Sometimes, on Sundays, she would even make Oki wear a traditional Yukata for lunch, when her grandmother came to visit. Her mother dedicated half her time making sure Oki looked like a princess but the frown on the child’s face looked more like the revengeful expression of a Japanese Yokai, out for blood.

 

That's exactly what she looked like when Zsasz entered the classroom for the first time : a Yokai choosing its next prey.

 

When the door opened, Oki had long given up on trying to understand the lesson and looked up at the boy who was now standing next to the teacher. She narrowed her eyes, trying to determine if this newcomer was worthy of her attention. Chances were that he was not but she gave it a shot anyway.

She eyed him up and down and suddenly froze, lost in thought.

The boy had the most amazing hair she had ever seen.

Thick. Wavy. Golden brown. Shiny and smooth. Perfect.

Oki felt her skin crawl with envy. She would have sold her little sister to Yugoslavian mobsters to get such a mane.

She kept on staring at him. He was wearing expensive, dark clothes and had a leather backpack, which probably cost a fortune for the common folk. Another basic rich kid who would never be able to handle a proper conversation, let alone a carefully crafted shenanigan. Oki was starting to lose interest in the boy but surprisingly, he suddenly stared right back at her. His eyes said “I know what you are doing”. He _knew_ she had been observing him and now he was judging her. Oki wasn’t used to such a predatory demeanor. This class was _her_ territory, how _dare_ he look at her as if he owned the place?

They looked at each other like angry puppies for two solid minutes until the teacher sent the boy to his desk. He never broke eye contact and Oki found herself excited for the first time in forever. Two things were now crystal clear to her :

 

1.) School had just gotten a lot more interesting.

 

2.) The boy's name was Victor Zsasz.

 

For the next few days, Oki went “full shinobi mode”, as her father used to say.

Quiet. Alert. Vigilant.

She watched the boy's every step, every move and finally wrote down on a piece of paper her final report on the Zsasz case:

 

Victor Zsasz had two other names : Dimitri and David. He was born on January the 14th.

He was an ace student, always attentive and focused on his work. His books were impeccable and he wrote the lessons down carefully, his brows furrowed.

He had a thing for blue objects and owned at least ten blue pens, each one of a different shade.

His clothes were always dark and simple, nothing extravagant. He sometimes arrived dressed in a black suit that made him look like a tiny adult. He wore no jewelry except for a silver necklace that he kept on him at all times : the pendant was shaped as a hand, fingers pointing downwards, and had a blue stone in the center of it.

Oki had no idea what that weird symbol was supposed to mean and it was far too tacky for her taste but Victor had once refused to take it off before a swimming lesson and had given the teacher a _very_ nasty look. He obviously cared a lot about that necklace. Oki wrote “In case of conflict, steal the necklace and then, blackmail him”. She knew what blackmailing was. He father did it all the time with his clients. That's how he got his money.

Speaking of family, Victor was an only child. He had a mother, a father, and a Bubbe, which meant “grandmother”, who lived with them. Most of his family was abroad but Oki didn't know in which country.

Oki had seen his mother once. The woman had come to pick her son up on a friday night at exactly 5:17 pm. She had the same radiant hair as her son, and her curls cascaded down her back like an ocean of gold and bronze, catching the light with every tiny movement. She had the softest voice and spoke in what Oki would later understand was Yiddish.

 

Victor spoke several languages himself. English. Yiddish. And a third one that Oki would not have been able to name to save her life. Truth be told, spying on a conversation was not the best way to really get what people were saying to each other or to determine what language they were speaking in the first place and granted, _maybe_ Oki should not have shamelessly spied on him while he was in the teacher’s office, speaking with his dad on the phone. But again : standard rules did not apply to the little girl or the rest of the Akamura clan. Rules didn't matter : results mattered which is why Oki liked stalking people. It was the most effective way to know secrets and therefore, _ergo_ as her family doctor said, to get what she wanted. She loved secrets. And she most certainly loved getting what she wanted.

 

After numerous days of trying to determine what exactly he had been talking about with his father in this mysterious language of his, Oki made a decision : Shinobi time was over. The moment had come to confront the target and to decide if said target was to become a friend or a foe. She waited for the following Thursday and went to Victor's desk first thing in the morning. Steady as a rock, she stood in front of him.

 

-Hi, she said sternly.

 

The kid looked her directly in the eyes. Again. She didn't seem to scare him at all and it was almost vexing, in a way. Everybody was at least intimidated by her but he wasn’t. No, he was just sitting there.

 

-Hello, he answered.

-I'm Oki and I was spying on you the other day.

 

He didn't even react. Now that was completely infuriating. Oki gritted her teeth and insisted :

 

-What was the language you spoke on the phone with your father?

 

Victor's face hardened and he suddenly looked much older than 8 years old. He still _wasn't_ scared but something in his expression had changed and Oki unconsciously wondered if _she_ should be scared. He stared at her for a long, long moment and answered calmly:

 

-Russian.

 

Now was the time to make a decision. Oki tilted her head and gave him a small, confident smile:

 

-Cool. I speak english and japanese.

-Cool.

-My name's Oki.

-I know. Mine is Victor.

-I know. Do you want to be my friend? Oki asked bluntly.

-I don't see why not.

-Excellent, Oki said, mimicking her father's expression.

 

The little girl elegantly sat next to Victor. He was looking at her in silence and she caught him smiling when she took out her pencil case. It came directly from japan and was decorated with little dogs called Shiba Inus. Those were the fluffiest dogs in the whole world and Oki was ready to personally headbutt anyone who thought otherwise.

 

-What ? She asked.

-Nothing. I like your pencil case.

 

It didn’t sound like a mean joke but she frowned nonetheless. She looked at his stuff, ready to make some snarky remark about his lack of taste but remained silent. His own pencil had little sharks on it.

 

-You like sharks? She asked.

-Very much, yes.

-I like snakes. And we should go to the aquarium. Have you ever been?

-I go every two weeks, my father takes me.

-I'll go with you next time.

 

It was more of an order than a proposition. Victor nodded and gave her a small grin.

 

- _What_? She repeated, already tired of always having to ask what was on his mind.

-You're funny. You look like a posh puffer fish.

-And you are _rude_.

-I'm just saying. You puff your cheeks a lot.

-I do not ! Oki exclaimed with genuine horror.

-Yes you do.

-NO I DON'T !

 

-You two, quiet!

 

The teacher gave them the most severe look she could manage and Victor regained his calm composure but not without flashing Oki a smug smile. Oki later came to realize that Victor was _very_ often smug or mocking. He seemed to find many things amusing, especially when those things involved a classmate tripping down the stairs or suffering from food poisoning. He had a very dry sense of humor that Oki found absolutely delightful. Moreover, adults seemed to find Victor just as creepy as her which was a bonus because as everyone knows, birds of a feather flock together.

 

They soon formed what Oki considered to be an extremely dynamic duo and started ending up in the headmaster’s office at least twice a month. But whereas Oki always arrived with bruises and scratches caused by their juvenile monkey business, Victor was spotless. Surgically clean, and completely unflappable. The headmaster had tried everything : yelling, threats, emotional blackmailing...but Victor Zsasz was so detached that it was bordering on apathy and reprimanding him was like screaming at a brick wall. The boy just sat there with his big brown eyes and shiny locks, waiting for the scolding to end. He wasn’t impressed. Victor was often precise, cunning, creative, energetic, and even goofy at times, but he was never impressed, except when he and Oki went to the aquarium or when Oki made him origamis.

 

Oki was proud to call Victor her friend. Actually, she was pretty sure she had found the best friend ever.

 

They had it good for the rest of the school year and two years after that. Then, the Change happened and everything came crashing down.

 

It was January and Oki had been dying to return to school after Christmas. She had gotten a book that no child should ever have had the right to own : _The ancient Chinese art of fireworks._ Her grandmother had bought it during a trip to Beijing and offered it to Oki, knowing damn well her granddaughter would soon jump from theory to practice.

The Akamura family had very special standards when it came to education. Politeness and manners were essential but the whole concept of “legality” was considered absolutely overrated. Oki knew her father was up to very shady business. She didn't mind. Didn't care. As long as she remained cordial and well-behaved -at least in front of the family-, he would let her build as many fireworks as she seemed acceptable. Hell he would evenlet her make a homemade molotov cocktail if she said “please” and “thank you”.

Oki had tons of plans and she wanted Victor to know all about it. She was planning on becoming an expert on the matter and _he_ was going to help her.

But when Victor arrived to school that day, Oki immediately noticed that patches of his hair were missing. _Entire_ patches. She had to refrain from touching his scalp and asked him what had happened.

 

-They fell out, he answered flatly.

 

His voice was dark and raucous. Had he been crying? Victor did not cry. Never, ever, ever. The boy must have sensed Oki was silently judging his attitude, because he glared at her. His dark eyes were red and puffy -so he _had_ been crying- but he was obviously daring her to say even one more word on the matter.

 

She didn't.

 

But others did more than just asking questions.

 

It didn't take long for Victor to become a laughing stock. As weeks then months went by, he started losing more and more of his beautiful hair, the chocolate curls falling like dead leaves. Oki secretly kept one. As a _souvenir._

 

Eventually, the inevitable happened : Victor came to school completely bald. The dark circles under his eyes were a proof of how little sleep he had gotten in the past few days and he was walking with his head down. He was mortified. Burning with shame and embarrassment. Oki could feel it in her bones and it was a horrible experience. She had never understood what empathy meant before that day and if this pain was what Victor was feeling, she wanted it to stop. At any cost.

 

The little girl was never a religious kid but that night, right before bed and out of sheer desperation, she decided to ask God a favor. If God was real he would help Victor and fix what was wrong with his body, because Victor was just a child and children were not supposed to hurt that much. He had not done anything wrong except for a few bad jokes. So she prayed and even said “Amen” even though she was pretty sure she had messed up quite a few times during her improvised praying session. It didn't work. Nothing happened. Victor's hair did not grow back, the circles under his eyes grew wider and darker, he remained miserable, and Oki stopped believing in any higher power. There was no God. And if there was one, he deserved to die, because he was useless and useless things were meant to be destroyed.

 

The sadness Oki felt soon turned into anger and frustration. She was losing him, Victor was slipping away and she missed the fun they used to have. He didn't even want to go to the aquarium anymore. Oki bottled up her feelings as she always did until one of the kids at school, a certain Bradley Decody, said that Victor had it coming because he was “a nasty jew”.

Oki didn’t consider if what she was about to do was right or wrong. She just waited until lunch break and pushed Bradley down the stairs. Classic payback.

The boy didn't complain. He had not even seen who had pushed him down the stairs. Oki knew better than getting caught.

 

Things got worse, and worse and worse. Life isn't kind, nor is it fair, and Victor eventually lost his eyebrows and eyelids. That's when all Hell broke loose for him.

 

People started calling him “Eggface”, “Baldy” or “Cristal Ball”. Started throwing ink at the back of his head during class, laughing openly as he tried to wipe the black off his naked skin.

Oki could see how hard Victor was trying not to snap and had no idea why he was playing so nice and tolerating this sort of disrespect. Victor was proud, there was some regal dignity about him that made his patience even more incomprehensible.

He was trying not to blow up and though Oki had never seen him throw a temper tantrum she had the feeling it was not a pretty sight. Maybe it was the reason why he was trying so hard. Maybe he knew exactly how things would end up if he unleashed the animal inside.

 

Oki understood. But shewasn’t good at comforting people. Actually, she was pretty terrible with words, so she showed him support the only way she knew : by treating him like nothing had changed. She ate with him during lunch break, as usual. She let him borrow her pencils and papers, as usual. She started going to the aquarium with him again, as usual. But despite her efforts, he wasn’t as cheerful as he used to be. He needed something more than “the usual”. And after weeks of ruminations, she finally came up with what looked like an idea.

 

-Do you think you’re ugly? She asked.

 

They were sitting in the park next to her house. Oki's parents never let her far from their sight but Victor’s seemed to be far more liberal when it came to monitoring their 10 year old boy. Victor froze and looked at her, then shrugged.

 

-Yes, he stated matter-of-factly.

 

There was no pain or bitterness in his voice. And maybe that was the worst part of all this mess. Victor didn't sound sad or like life had wronged him in any way. He was not angry anymore, he was resigned. Oki opened her little red bag and took something inside.

 

-Why do you have _that_ in your bag? Victor asked, incredulous.

 

He looked genuinely intrigued. Oki looked at the blade she now held and answered.

 

-This, is my father’s razor.

-I can see that. Still doesn’t tell me why you have it in your bag. Are we cutting off someone’s ponytail today?

 

He sounded rather pleased with his idea. Oki remembered that before his “change”, he always talked about his most wicked plans with a very pure, joyful enthusiasm. Oki showed him the blade. It glistened underneath the sunlight, shiny and smooth.

 

-I don’t think you’re ugly. You’re very cute. Now, I don’t want you to be my boyfriend, don’t get the wrong idea. But I think you are going to be super cute when you grow up. Like my cousin Tian.

 

Victor just blinked and kept on staring at her.

 

-I know people call you a freak. But friends support each other, right? So if you’re a freak, I’m a freak too.

 

Victor’s eyes widened when he understood what she was about to do but he did nothing to stop her. Oki held the the razor high and very slowly, started shaving her left eyebrow. Victor giggled uncontrollably.

 

-You look so weird !

 

This was the most cheerful he had been in months. Oki started laughing too and raised the blade for another round. Precisely at that moment, she heard her mother yelling. Or rather, _screeching_ like a Banshee _._

 

_-OKI ! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!_

 

Japanese could be a rather abrasive language when spoken above a certain number of decibels. Oki's mother had a high-pitched voice that made Victor grit his teeth. The woman grabbed Oki's wrist and shook it violently until the child dropped the razor.

 

- _ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR_ _DAMN_ _MIND?! AND YOU!_

 

She turned to Victor and pointed at him, hysterical.

 

-You ! You made her do this didn’t you ?! You are a BAD.INFLUENCE. Do NOT come close to my daughter ever again do you hear me ?! EVER!

 

Victor didn't say anything. He just sat there, numb, as Oki's mother dragged her daughter away and towards their house. As she dragged his only friend away from him. He could hear Oki kicking and yelling in japanese. She was not crying, but Goodness gracious, could she scream. Victor remained in the park for a solid hour, processing what had just happened. Then, he took his bag and went home. For hours he remained completely silent and when he went to the aquarium the next day, he felt like drowning into the silent waters of the shark tank.

 

He didn’t feel at home in this world anymore.


	2. Snapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay ! here's the second chapter ! I'm so happy to share it with you guys ! Once again, please don't burn me on the stake if you detect english mistakes...english is not my mother tongue, but I am doing my very best :D 
> 
> I'd also like to shamelessly promote a work that I absolutely love, names "A nasty piece of work", by Anynameisfine. Her style is great and she depicts Victor Zsasz in a perfect way ! go and give her some love guys !

The next week, Oki didn’t show up at school. 

When Victor asked the teacher if she was sick, the woman turned her nose up at him and answered that “it was none of his business”. Victor snarled and stormed out of the classroom the second the bell rang. “None of his business”? 

Yeah, right.

He was going to get his way and this stupid, mediocre replica of a teacher was not going to stop him. Victor had never been afraid of breaking the rules, it was pretty much engraved in his DNA. His family was neck-deep in the Underworld. They had connections with the entire eastern European mafia, from Bulgaria and Romania to Ukraine and Russia. Breaking the rules was the norm for him.

The only thing he had to be careful about was not to “snap”, as his mother elegantly phrased it. “Snapping” was what happened when pain, anger, frustration or rage became to much to bear and crashed over him like a tsunami wave, washing away any common sense or moral values. When he “snapped”, Victor became as violent as a rabid animal. It had already happened a few times since he was a little kid, each time ending up with him changing schools and his father’s men making sure those “accidents” didn’t appear in his school record. 

Victor knew he was just one wrong step away to be home-schooled and though the perspective of being away from all those idiotic classmates of his made him rather joyful, he could not afford to be expelled this time. School was where Oki was. He needed to be on his best behavior. That’s why all those bullies who judged it appropriate to make fun of him were still in good physical health.

Not snapping and smashing their faces into a jelly had taken all of his mental strength and truly, it was becoming tedious without Oki's help and support. She kept him balanced and happy. Without her, he felt empty, again. Like a bubble had closed around him, again, isolating him from other people just like before he met her except this time he even looked different.

Oki needed to come back, he needed to know where she was and how he could contact her. She was his friend, no one had the right to take away his only friend. She was like him ! She understood him in a way that no one else ever did! She needed to come back, or he would snap, big time. If he didn’t get Oki back, this stupid school would better be ready for some massive tantrum. 

Victor found himself hiding in the bushes outside of school, long after the other students were gone, waiting for the teachers and staff to beat it. He waited half an hour in a crouching position and then headed towards the cafeteria. The cleaning-lady was sloppy and always left the backdoor open, no matter how many times the headmaster pleaded her to be careful about it. Victor entered the building and carefully went to the school’s reception office. Calmly, he opened the door, slipped into the small room, and went through the big black notebook that was carefully put next to the telephone.

This book was where the receptionist wrote down all the information about appointments, deliveries, students calling in sick or parents notifying the school of their child’s absence. She then informed the headmaster and teachers, a process that Victor found excessively complicated and troublesome. This notebook was not even locked up for the night which allowed people like him to know absolutely everything about the students’ ins and outs. Victor sighed. Adults could be very negligent when put around children. He furrowed his brows and started examining the book. Oki had been gone for a week. He just needed to go back to the preceding Monday.

Nervously, he flipped the pages and finally found what he was looking for. At that very moment, he felt his heart sink. 

Oki Akamura : mother called at 8 AM. Family moving to Kyoto. Student won’t be coming anymore. Note : Make sure to transfer student’s school record to Saint-Michael International school, Kyoto. 

Victor felt his throat tighten. His hands were trembling, Oki was gone. She was gone. He would never see her again and he didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. His vision became blurry and he grabbed the heavy book before throwing it against the office’s window as hard as he possibly could. The glass shattered and crashed on the floor, making an awful mess, but the child wasn’t done yet. Not even close. He smashed a lamp, threw all the books he could find on the ground and finally kicked the desk repeatedly, so hard he actually fractured it. His threw his little fists to the wall, screaming, until he was bleeding. He wanted to hit someone, he wanted to hurt someone. This was not fair. Why was nothing ever fair?! 

Eventually, when he got tired of punching and screaming, Victor sat on the floor and started sobbing.

He got home pretty late that night. His mother ran to him the second he opened the mansion’s door, screaming that she had been worried to death, asking where he had been, but Victor didn’t even pay attention to her. He just dropped his backpack on the floor and looked at his hands. He was bleeding and though it didn’t hurt -yet-, he was worried he would stain the Persian carpet of the hall. His mother noticed his injury and called her husband, falling on her knees to inspect her son. But despite her efforts, Victor remained silent. He felt miserable. More than that actually : numb. Apathetic. Like a blind man who would have been granted new eyes and seen a sunset only to be told a few minutes later that such a miracle was a one time chance. That it would never happen again and that the night would be eternal from now on. 

Ivan, his father, came as soon as he heard his wife screaming. Kneeling, he examined Victor hands and looked at him intensely. When he spoke, it was in Russian :

-Victor, what happened to you ?

The child did not answer but his eyes filled up with tears. He tried to hold them back. His father didn’t like “weakness”, he usually didn’t tolerate it but for some reason he didn’t say anything this time even with a tear as big as a marble rolled down Victor’s cheek. 

He just opened his arms and held his little boy close. Ivan was severe with his allies, ruthless with his enemies but surprisingly fair and loving with his family. Victor had always been so strong and he hadn’t shown any sign of distress or emotional pain since the beginning of his alopecia. His son was made of pure steel, he was hard like an ancient Russian sword. So hard that Ivan Zsasz often forgot that he was no more than 10 years old. Victor was already strong, he would never have to toughen up for he was already a small warrior.

This miracle child that they had fought so hard to have would soon become an incredible man. The proud leader of their dynasty. Ivan had no doubts about his son’s abilities, which is why he let cry in his arms. Maybe his baby boy deserved to lower his shield, just once, just this time. Maybe today, he just needed to be a child. Ivan closed his eyes and hugged Victor as hard as he could without crushing him. His wife Myriam joined their embrace and soon Victor’s cries were muffled by his parents’ bodies.

That night, when he went to bed, his mother sat by his side, and gently stroke his head, repeating the movement she had been doing so many times when he still had hair. She looked at him gently and asked in Yiddish:

-Do you want to talk about it, treasure?

Victor shook his head. Myriam smiled and kissed his forehead. 

-It's okay. Goodnight, David.

She was the only one in the whole world who called him David. Myriam Zsasz, born Abramov, was a descendant of Russian Jewish immigrants. Her parents had survived the Holocaust, which, as she always said, made her and Victor survivors by association. Her son was destined to survive and win, despite the circumstances, despite the worst, which is why she had named him Victor. But the name David reminded her of her own father, who had died in Israel, two years before her son was born. She said Victor had his eyes. Big and dark. 

Myriam was a soft spoken woman, patient, calm, generous but sometimes, she had this look. A look that said : “I might only be the queen and I might be the one hiding in the shadows of this clan but always remember that I let you live only for as long as it pleases me”. His mother was a lioness. Quiet but never submissive. His father knew it. His men knew it. Victor knew it. His mother could handle anything. Which is why he called softly:

-Mummy?

She was about to turn off the lights but came back to sit by his side on his oversized bed, on which could be found at least six stuffed sharks and three stuffed orcas.

-Yes, love?

Victor swallowed hard.

-I snapped today.

Concern flashed across his mother’s face and she asked, slowly as if she wanted him to think very carefully about his next answer:

-Did you hurt someone?  
-No. I swear.

She sighed in relief and her smile came back, a bit sad this time.

-Victor, you need to tell me what happened.

He remained silent for a moment, looking for the right way to phrase the whole thing.

-Oki is gone.   
-Your friend ? Little Oki Akamura ?

Victor nodded gravely.

-We were at the park, the other day. Oki asked me if I felt ugly and I said yes, because I am.  
-Baby, don't say that...  
-But I am ! The boy exclaimed, I am ugly ! I have no hair, or eyebrows or anything ! I'm a freak, people stare at me! They stare! And they laugh at me like ! But Oki didn't ! she said I was cute!

Myriam gently caressed his cheek. She was fighting the urge to ask him for the names of the kids who had had the rich idea to call him a freak. It would be so easy to call the right persons, people who would make sure these little bastards didn't make it to school the next day. She smiled and cleared her throat before answering:

-Oki is right Victor. You are a very beautiful boy and one day you’ll be a handsome man. You have your grandfather’s eyes, your father’s cheekbones and my beautiful nose. I’m rather proud of my work here.

She tickled him and Victor giggled a little. Just enough for her to hear.

-Here it is... I’ve missed this beautiful smile of yours. Now tell me : what happened next?  
-Oki shaved her eyebrow.  
-I beg you pardon?  
-She said that if people called me a freak, then she would be one too. She had her father’s razor in her backpack.  
-Oh goodness.

His mother didn’t sound horrified or shocked, but rather amused by the whole thing.

-You have a true friend in her, dearest.  
-Had. She’s gone now. Her mother arrived and she yelled at me. She said I was a bad influence and that I made Oki do it. But I didn’t. It was her idea. She wanted to be a good friend. Now she's in Kyoto and I feel like...if I had been different, she wouldn’t have had to do this. I should have stopped her. This is all my fault. 

Myriam furrowed her brows and suddenly there it was. The regal look Victor adored.

-Nonsense. This little girl seems very clever and smart enough to make her own decisions. You said it yourself : she wanted to be a good friend and shaving an eyebrow is nothing like getting a tattoo or jumping off a bridge for God's sake !

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly through her nose to cool her head, then said:

-Sometimes, children like yourselves are far more loyal and tenacious than adults when it comes to human relationships. She did nothing wrong and neither did you.

Victor didn’t say anything. His skepticism was pretty obvious and his mother put her pale hand under his chin, her green eyes piercing his. 

-You did nothing wrong Victor. Her parents’ choices are their own and you have been nothing but a good friend to Oki, am I right?  
-Yes, mum.  
-Did you ever snap at her?  
-No! I'd never do that!  
-Then you are not guilty of anything. And if life has taught me something it is that true friends can never stay away from each other for very long. Life has a way of working out. Did I ever tell you about my mother’s friend Rachel?

Victor slowly shook his head. He could feel it was story time. Outside, not so far from the mansion, the sirens of the GCPD were hurling in the night and the distant tumult of the city created a quiet background noise. A few droplets started crashing against the room’s window. A typical winter storm was coming. Victor half-closed his eyes as soon as he heard the faint sound of the raindrops, waiting for his mother to speak again. The rain appeased him. Made him sleepy. Myriam smiled as she felt her boy relax in his bed and said:

-When your grandmother was very young, in Poland, she had a best friend named Rachel. They spent all their time together. They were just as inseparable as you and Oki. When the Nazis invaded Warsaw they lived in the ghetto together. And when your grandmother was taken to Auschwitz along with the rest of her family, Rachel was left behind. Bubbe later leaned that Rachel had been taken to another extermination camp. They were never to see each other again. Bubbe never quite got over her and eventually moved to the United state with your grandfather. One day, she was visiting Metropolis for the first time and she stopped at a little Jewish bakery. You know how Bubbe loves Strudels. And guess who was behind the counter?  
-Rachel?  
-Absolutely. Fate guided them towards each other. Life fixed the broken parts of their lives by bringing them together again. They are still friends, that’s why your Bubbe goes to Metropolis each Sunday. They love to have tea together. 

Victor offered his mother a faint smile. The rain was now pouring and the thunder suddenly roared in the sky. The boy had never been scared of storms, much to his parents’ surprise. It was like a lullaby to him and he never slept better than when the thunder rumbled. It was almost magical how it could calm him down.

-Do you understand what I’m trying to say, treasure ?  
-Yes. If Oki and I are real friends, we’ll see each other again.  
-Exactly.

She got up and kissed his cheek tenderly. She then turned the lights off but before leaving the room she whispered:

-And about those bullies, David…

Victor knitted his non-existent eyebrows.

-You are a Zsasz. Do not let them think they’re above you in any way. Ever. Do we have an agreement?  
-...Yes mum.  
-If you must snap, then at least, teach them a lesson they will remember. 

Victor remained gobsmacked. His mother had always been adamant about him snapping. But that was before the Change. And the rules were different now or so it seemed. Myriam closed the door and went down the stairs, splendid in her purple dress and red lipstick. She would die before she allowed anyone to walk all over her baby boy. And if they had to learn respect the hard way, then so be it. She had never been one to faint at the sight of blood.

The next day, Victor sat at his desk in silence. He still felt exhausted from the night before but was unusually fidgety. His bandaged hands could not stop moving and he kept playing with his pen. Something was going to happen, he could feel it just like animals feel natural disasters coming long before they actually strike.

When he finally saw Alex Massett's group coming his way he sighed deeply. Why were crazy people always gravitating around him, looking for a fight?

Why couldn't anyone understand that he was letting them act this way, not because he could not stop it but because he was trying to be the bigger man?  
He had warned them.  
He had been patient.  
He had been a good boy.  
But his mother had given him permission to retaliate this time.  
And there was gonna be blood.

Alex Massett Junior, son of the famous banker Alex Massett Senior, was a tall and muscular boy for his age. He often liked to call himself the “king of the jungle” but he was nothing like a lion. He looked more like a despotic and morbidly obese Rhino.

Victor often found people stupid, as they could not understand his reasoning. The boy had a tendency to jump directly to his conclusions without explaining how he got them in the first place. But Alex was not just stupid. He was rude, mean and profoundly useless to their school’s microcosm which was organized as such:

Some students were good students. They worked hard and followed the rules by the book. Victor considered them to be the “good eggs”. Some other kids, on the contrary, had a completely different outlook on life and liked to break the rules more than anything else. They were mischievous and adaptable. They liked to cheat just for the sake of it. Victor called them the “bad eggs” and considered himself a member of this infamous gang. The rest of the kids were all the inbetweeners who navigated the gray areas between the good side and the bad. The regular eggs Pretty simple.

Except there was a fourth category which made everything more difficult : the nut-jobs. The Cray-cray family. The “Kill-it-with-fire-Henry” group. Those ones didn't care about the social hierarchy of the school and just wanted to wreck havoc everywhere the went. They had no code of honor, no precision, they were just...chaotic. They were the crazy eggs and there was no cooking them into anything decent. 

Alex Massett was part of this bad batch and Victor could not understand for the life of him why his mother hadn’t still drowned that oversized troll in the nearest river. 

-Hey Baldy, where’s your lil' Ching-Chong girlfriend? Has she been deported to China or whatever? 

Victor stopped writing but kept his pen in his hand.

-Oki is Japanese, he answered with a straight face.  
-Who gives a shit what she is ?! They're all Chinks in the end!

The whole group laughed and Victor closed his eyes. He could feel the rage coming. His hands were slightly shaking again and he could feel his cheeks getting hot. His conscientious brain was already planning his next move. Alex noticed how his target had lost all interest in him and grabbed Victor by the collar.

-So where is she, Baldy-boy ? Did she get tired of your crazy ass and decided to go fuck someone else?

Alex Massett probably didn’t have the faintest idea what sex was, but that didn’t stop him from making jokes about it on the daily. This was one of his most infuriating traits. He was always talking about things he knew nothing about.

-For a person coming from such a prestigious background, you are awfully rude you know, said Victor flatly, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

Massett's eyes widened. 

-DON'T YOU FUCKING TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER YOU FREAK SHOW ! 

The screaming was too intense, the words were too loud, too aggressive, too menacing. Victor's ears started buzzing, his muscles tensed, his pupils dilated and suddenly it happened.

He snapped.

He got up, the pen still in his hand. He didn't talk, didn't think and pounced, before stabbing the other kid right in the eye. He didn't see anything anymore, didn't hear anything. He just felt the blood on his skin, warm and thick, like syrup.   
There was a very quiet moment, that barely lasted a second and then the screaming began and it sounded like a symphony to his ears. He stabbed Alex again and felt like the tension he had felt all those months was breaking free like a wild animal. Like the rage, the hurt, the sadness, the frustration, the self-hate were finally blossoming into a dark and poisonous flower.

Next thing he knew, he was home, in the living room, while his father quietly spoke on the phone with what seemed to be an extremely upset headmaster. 

The kid has lost his eye.

Victor did not care one bit, in fact he even felt oddly proud. From now on, all those little shits would know what it cost to call him names, to belittle him, to underestimate him. From now on, they would know that he was not “Baldy” or “Eggface” but Victor Zsasz and that Victor Zsasz didn’t take shit from anyone. They would fear him, because the only person who genuinely liked him was gone, and that it all suddenly felt like too much to handle.

Victor looked down at his blood-stained hands. He had enjoyed it.  
He had loved teaching this little bastard the lesson of a lifetime.

He wasn't supposed to, and he was technically aware of all the reasons why stabbing a person in the eye was very wrong, but he had found this feeling of power incredible. Natural. As if this was exactly what he was born to do. And maybe it was. Why not after all? Life was nothing more than a giant tank. And since the little fishes didn’t want him around, he might as well become the biggest shark in the waters. 

Victor never went back to school after. Alex Massett's parents pressed charges but his father took care of it efficiently and discreetly. You didn't just mess with the Zsasz family. That was a fundamental rule. If a member of the clan stabbed you in the eye, you said “thank you for not harvesting my kidney that's very kind of you good sir”. Period. Pressing charges was the easiest way to get yourself in big, big trouble. It was Gotham after all.

From that moment, Victor's life changed drastically. Again. The boy became home-schooled and started spending more and more time inside. The Zsasz mansion was huge and decorated in a Gothic fashion that could either be perceived as extraordinarily refined or very intimidating. Victor had always loved its huge stained windows and tall armors, that seemed to guard the hallways and rooms, watching over the inhabitants of the house. The mansion was alive and it was his territory, his safe place.

Victor could have been perfectly happy now that he didn’t have to tolerate imbeciles all day long for the sake of getting an education.

There was just one tiny detail that ruined his mood on a daily basis : He missed Oki. He missed the life he had before the Change. Going to school, then to the aquarium and to the park, to the movies or the festival…It had felt like a completely normal life for the mobster child that he was and he was pretty sure Oki had enjoyed it just as much as he did, maybe because her parents were involved in the Underworld, just as Victor’s were, and that the two kids both craved normality. They had built a little bubble of intimacy and trust from the moment Oki had decided Victor would be her friend and this bubble had burst without a warning.

Home-schooled and alone, Victor was left with nothing but the fading memories of what it had been like to be normal. Or at least, to have another freak by his side. 

Now the only freak he knew was the one in the mirror. And he could not decide if he liked what he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand cut ! did you like it ? see you soon for chapter 3 !


	3. The things we lost in the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 3. The end of Victor's life as he knew it and the begining of the Victor Zsasz we all know. His first step towards becoming the goofy sadist and highly efficient killer he is.

Life went on.  
Years went by.  
And like cubs turn into lions, Victor turned from a kid into a young man.

His 17th birthday was coming up and the last descendant of the Zsasz clan had become the best version of himself, or so he thought.

His alopecia had long stopped bothering him, mainly thanks to his mother, who had taught him how to always dress as if he was going to meet his worst enemy. Victor, being the fast student that he was, had rapidly caught up on the ins and outs of what his mother considered to be “Real fashion”. The fashion you would never see at cocktails, or pretty suburban parties. The one that didn’t need glitters or sequins to catch the eye. Some people dressed to impress, the Zsasz family dressed to oppress and they were very good at making an impression. 

Victor was no exception. His dark suits were impeccably tailored, his vests chosen carefully and his overall look, on point. The boy was an insult to puberty itself : he had never had an “awkward phase” and had grown so gracefully that it was almost embarrassing for the rest of the american youth. At sixteen years old, Victor looked sharp as a knife and graceful as a young tiger ready to make its first killing.

And ready he was, indeed. 

Soon after he became home-schooled, his father hired an old friend of his named Gregory Djordjevic. They had been to school together back in the day, in snowy St Petersbourg and had remained in touch with each other for years. Djordjevic was a tall, dark haired man whose green eyes were almost yellow and whose eyebrows were so thick they could have been the set of the next King Kong movie. 

He was known in all of Gotham as “the Swordmaster”, a nickname he had earned thanks to his extraordinary skills with blades. He was the very best when it came to turning even the clumsiest person into a killing machine...or a living person into a dead one.

All the mobster families fought over him like vultures, ready to offer him the moon on a silver platter in exchange for his skills as a hitman or as a trainer for their own security staff.  
Unfortunately for them, Gregory had other priorities. He valued friendship and loyalty above money and it didn’t matter how many zeros you could align. It didn’t matter if you offered him a thousand virgins or a golden ticket for Willie Wonka's chocolate factory. Djordjevic only worked for the people he deemed worthy of his time and Victor Dimitri Zsasz rapidly proved to be an incredible investment. 

When Gregory first met him he was only a midget. A frail boy, barely old enough to throw a proper punch, let alone fire a gun. Gregory usually didn’t train children, it was one of his ground rules, but Ivan had insisted. The man could be the epitome of “persistence” when he wanted to and eventually, after numerous conversations which looked more like an Olympic screaming competition, Gregory had caved in. Ivan had won, like he always did. But what had really sealed the deal was not Ivan's atrocious temper or the boy’s cute little face.

No. 

What really triggered Gregory’s interest were Victor’s “snapping crisis”. Ivan had told him all about it. About how he and his wife had had Victor tested for neurological and then psychological disorders. About how all the tests had come back negative. About how Victor’s case was a pure medical mystery. The boy was fine, he showed no sign of any brain malfunction, no hint of psychosis or any diagnosable mental illness. He just had these...episodes, during which he became a ball of rage and fire, completely unstoppable and capable of stabbing kids twice his size. 

That was raw potential, right there. Pure energy, yet to be channeled into precise and deadly efficiency.

Gregory was extremely good at detecting talent in others and once he had found it, he was incapable of letting go. He craved the satisfaction of seeing his students killing their first prey, shooting their first guy. All his trainees were works of art. He sculpted them, painted their minds red and black with blood and gunpowder.

The young Zsasz would be his masterpiece. 

So he trained the boy, harder than he had ever trained anyone. Not because of his father’s expectations -Gregory had his own and they always prevailed- but because Victor never seemed to get tired. No matter how hard he pushed him, no matter how many times he made him fall, the child always got back up on his feet. There was something in him that just would not stop trying until he got it right. At some point, eventually, Victor stopped trying and started succeeding. Failure became an abstract concept to him and Djordjevic began to wonder if training him had been such a good idea after all.

He liked his students only as long as he remained the indisputably superior to them. He never taught any of his trainees his most deadly tricks but Victor didn’t seem to need his guidance, he figured things out himself with the ability of a seasoned warrior. Djordjevic eventually admitted the truth he had been denying for years : the kid would overshadow and ridicule him before he turned twenty. Djordjevic had created a beast he would not be in control of for very long, and that thought scared him. He resigned three days after Victor turned fifteen and left the mansion without a word. The only thing he left behind was a beautiful knife, big enough to gut a bear. One final gift to the student that one day, would make the world forget Djordjevic's name.

When Ivan asked his son what on earth he had done to make Gregory flee like the Devil himself was running after him, the teenager answered that his old master “didn’t like competition”. Ivan looked at Victor intensely, the question silent but obvious behind his blue eyes : 

Had Victor snapped at Djordjevic? 

As if he was reading his mind, Victor said darkly that he had not done anything wrong, at that they could test him again if they didn’t believe him. Ivan had never taken the measure of how humiliating it had been for his son to go to the hospital, then the neurologist, then the psychotherapist, the psychiatrist and back to the hospital again. But Victor’s tone was so full of venom at that moment that Ivan backed off prudently. Victor was not crazy. He was not out of control, and he was not a liar. Doubting those very simple truths was apparently as traitorous as stabbing him in the back and Ivan immediately understood that any vocal accusation would be greeted with a full blown teenage crisis. 

He didn’t ask anymore questions, and left it at that. Later, he asked Victor if he would enjoy training with him from now on. The young man simply nodded, with a small smile that made him look five years younger. He had his mother’s smile, calm but filled with something that resembled mischief.

Ivan quickly understood what Victor had meant by “competition”. The boy was a natural. His hand-to-hand combat skills were spectacular for a teenager that young and when it came to guns, he simply was a prodigy. There was not a single target at the range that he would miss, even blindfolded. Heart, brain, liver, stomach, knees, elbows, hands...he could hit whatever body part he seemed appropriate and didn’t break a sweat doing it. The gun was an extension of his arm, nothing less and Victor only seemed complete with a weapon in his hands. Anyone else than Ivan Zasz would have been scared senseless by what psychiatrists could have called “psychopathic tendencies”. But the man was proud of his only child, prouder than he had ever been. His son was destined to greatness and his wife started thinking that Ivan would never shut up about it, but she let him gloat and brag. She, herself, was so glad of how unique her son had turned out to be.

Her baby was perfect. Lean, muscular. Smart, so smart. He had passed his exams with flying colors and was currently studying economy and management. He had been accepted into Harvard and Yale and still hesitated on which one to choose, repeating that “the one with the less people and the most food would be perfect”. He had inherited her wits and dark humor. 

They all knew that college would be a walk in the park for him, and that he would have plenty of time to focus on the only business that really mattered : the Zsasz criminal empire. Soon Victor would join his parents to the family’s “meetings” and Myriam had no doubt he would fit right in, considering he was the exact replica of his father, minus the beard, plus the wittiness and quiet indolence. Victor had a graceful, almost tiger-like attitude. The way he moved, the way he eyed people up and down, the way he entered the rooms...it would make quite an impression on all the older and more experienced mobsters that Victor would one day rule over with an iron fist. He just needed to learn the ropes and sooner the better. 

They had indeed had a lot on their plate, lately. A new criminal clan was rising from the shadows of Gotham, led by a brutal and vulgar fellow who liked to call himself “Don Maroni”. The name made Myriam cringe with disdain. This fool was no Don, he had no leader quality about him. Just a barbarous violence that Victor's mother despised with all her might. This Maroni imbecile had the great and dangerous ambition to conquer Gotham and to crush Don Falcone in the process. The mere thought of Carmine Falcone losing to such a clown made Myriam laugh. The Zsasz had been in business with Carmine long before Victor was even born. The man was the very proof that there was, in fact, honor among thieves. He was firm, direct, implacable and most of all, fair. A modern version of king Solomon, that Myriam respected and cared for. He had supported their clan during the darkest hours of Gotham's underworld wars, had always been a reliable partner and bought them huge amount of weapons for a fair price. The man knew what business meant but most importantly : he knew what family and loyalty meant. Maroni knew nothing of such values and his greediness knew no boundaries. This would not stand, and he needed to be destroyed before he ended up thinking that he was relevant in the grand scheme of things. 

These last months, the brute had been getting bolder and had pillaged some of the warehouses in which the Zsasz and their associates kept the weapons which arrived directly from their clandestine factories to Gotham's docks. He had stolen 10 000 dollars worth of rifles, guns and bombs. It was time to teach that overconfident cockroach a lesson he would not forget. A carefully crafted plan was being set up under Ivan's supervision and a huge family meeting was taking place the following Saturday, on a property which had been in the Zsasz family for four generations. Black Dolphin Island, named after the famous Russian prison, was a windy and rainy rock in the middle of the ocean. Perfectly secured. Perfectly safe. It had been decided that Victor would attend the meeting. He was almost seventeen after all and the time had come. 

When Saturday finally came, Myriam instantly knew something was wrong with her son. Victor had not opened his blinds, leaving his room in the dark, and he was buried under his blanket like a child. Myriam sat by his side.

-Victor?

Only a soft noise answered her. She insisted.

-Darling. Wake up, we need to go, the boat is leaving in two hours.

Her hand went to find her son’s forehead and she gasped. He was burning. Softly, she removed the blanket and the boy immediately shivered. His bed sheets were drenched in sweat and his eyes, now half open, were glistening with a feverish fatigue. Myriam's eyes widened.

-Sweetheart, how long have you been like this?   
-I don't...k-know...f-few hours, maybe. I’m f-fine. I’ll t-take a s-shower and everything will b-be fine. Not d-d-dead yet.   
-Oh, very funny Victor. 

She inspected him for a moment and declared:

-This looks like a bad flu. There is no way you are leaving this house today. I’ll call doctor Peterson so that he can take care of you.  
-I can t-take care of m-myself! the boy snarled.  
-Watch your tone, darling. I’ll warn your father that you’re feeling unwell. Rest. I’ll tell you all about the meeting when we get home tonight. I know you wanted to come, but you definitely do not want to throw up on the council’s table. 

Victor seemed to consider that option, but eventually closed his eyes, defeated.

-Fine, mother.  
-Don’t act childish and go take a shower, Treasure. I’ll have Marina change your sheets in the meantime. And if I learn that you went to the range or anywhere outside this room for that matter, I’ll chain you to this bed, understood?

He gave her a smile.

-Yes, mother.  
-You insolent little devil.

She kissed his forehead with a laugh and got up, lingering near his door as she always did, since he was a little boy.

-I’ll see you tonight. Sleep tight baby.  
-I’m not a baby anym-more.  
-To me, you’ll always be. That is a curse you’re gonna have to live with.

She smiled proudly and adjusted her fur coat. Her dark curls were longer than ever before and her first wrinkles gave her what the French called “prestance”. She was aging like fine wine. She blew her son a kiss and Victor rolled his eyes.   
The sound of her laugh rang and echoed in his ears as Myriam went down the stairs, to the car and then to the harbor.

Victor was never to hear that laugh again.  
Because on that day of December the 16th, the boat never reached Black dolphin island. 

When Victor woke up, the night was pitch black. He could hear the racket of Gotham City, far from the mansion and muffled by the nearby forest. His clock read 3 am. The mansion was incredibly silent, but unlike any other night, the atmosphere was heavy. Something was out of place, floating in the air like a shadow or a menacing black bird. Victor rose from his bed, still achy and weak. His feet hit the ground and a cold shiver ran up the boy’s spine. His tee-shirt was humid with cold sweat. It took Victor several long minutes to understand what had been bothering him from the moment he had opened his eyes.

His mother had not come to wake him up. Granted, he had been sick but it was not like her. His mother would never let him sleep, knowing that he was waiting for her to come back from a meeting. Meetings were important, crucial, the flu was barely an excuse for someone to miss them and she knew how much Victor cared about his future involvement in the family’s business. He had waited for this day for years and he had been kept away from the party. She would never have let him sleep.

Victor opened his bedroom door and crossed the hallway, his feet gently pressing against the thick persian carpet. The oak floor was creaking and the house was breathing, creating noises that for anyone else than Victor, would have been downright terrifying. The air was unusually cold and a sharp breeze was blowing, as if someone had let the front door open. Victor felt goosebumps on his nape. Something wasn’t right. Carefully he went back to his room and grabbed the guns his parents had offered him for his last birthday. The weapons were perfectly balanced and had been hand made to fit Victor’s fast and precise shooting style. He never missed a shot with those beauties. He also grabbed Gregory's knife and tucked it in his pants. Barefoot and still feverish, the boy went down the stairs without a sound. The cold was getting more aggressive and when he reached the hall, down the beautiful marble stairs, he felt his blood freeze.

The front door was indeed open. There was no sign of any of the house’s staff member and the lights were all off. Prudently, Victor walked towards the living room and as he entered the vast area, suddenly stepped in a puddle of something still warm and syrupy. He stopped moving, held his breath and looked down at the ground. Next to his foot was Elisa, their old cook, her skull cracked open like an egg. The woman’s face expressed nothing but terror. Victor blinked once. Twice. Memories of Elisa, how what she had been before someone turned her into a grotesque heap of dead flesh, started pouring in and he had to close his eyes briefly to keep from snapping on the spot. His breath now quick and labored, Victor progressed towards the kitchen, looking straight ahead. He didn’t want to look around. Because just as he had feared, there were more bodies on the ground.

Jason the valet.   
Marina and Valentine, the maids.   
Steven the gardener.

They must all had been in the staff’s room, enjoying their usual evening tea when they had been killed. The position of the bodies indicated they had tried to run from their murderer. They had been shot in the back. All of them. Victor caught a glimpse of one last body, near the hallway that led to the kitchen. Valerius, the family’s guard dog, a beautiful German shepherd that used to bark at autumn leaves. He had been shot in the head. The dog had been killed attacking its opponent. Victor kneeled and ran his finger through the soft fur of Valerius one last time. His eyes were burning, his vision was blurry. His parents were still nowhere to be seen and each passing second seemed endless. 

When a crashing noise came from the kitchen, Victor immediately jumped back on his feet and hid in the shadows of the hallway. Three voices were coming from the room, whose door was half open.

-Fuck, Giulio! Watch it! You wanna set me on fire or what?  
-Shut the fuck up, you’re the one standing in the way!   
-Quiet you two ! And careful with the gasoline!   
-Don’t understand why the boss is making us do this shit !   
-'Cause we sendin' a message !   
-The Zsasz are fucking dead man! that’s a pretty big message already!  
-See, you ain’t the chief of this mission because you dumb as hell! You don’t just kill motherfuckers like that, you also destroy their image. This mansion is like a symbol, man. We gonna destroy it to destroy their image.  
-Still pretty fucking unnecessary in my opinion. And tell me again why we haven’t killed the kid yet?  
-Because the kid has to die in the fire. Slow and painful, the boss said.   
-Killing a kid ain’t right man.  
-Pipe down! You not happy with how things are going, Giuseppe? Talk to Maroni about it. For now I'm in charge so pour that fucking thing on the floor and shut up.  
-Yeah yeah…

Victor could only half-hear them now. 

“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”

They had killed his parents. His father. His mother. They had killed them. Maroni had murdered them. Victor felt his mind break in half as rage took over him. He armed his guns and without a word or tear, kicked the kitchen door open. He fired three single shots and three bodies soon fell to the ground. The men had been dead long before any of them had the chance to even make a gesture towards his gun. Hands shaking, head boiling, body trembling, Victor grabbed his knife and fell on his knees once more, right next to one of his victims. 

“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”  
“The Zsasz are fucking dead”

He stabbed the corpse in front of him, so many times that he lost count. He was screaming but he could not hear himself. All he could see was face of the man being mutilated into a shapeless, bloody mess. He could not stop cutting and stabbing and ravaged each of the bodies with the same inhuman fury. He only took a break when his knife started hitting the ground instead of flesh. He was soaked in blood. Dizzy and nauseous, he got up and stumbled towards his guns. Picking them up from the kitchen table he wandered around aimlessly.

“The Zsasz are fucking dead”

Victor's black eyes considered the gasoline on the floor. His nostrils could smell the atrocious mix of blood and chemicals, a fragrance he would never be able to stomach ever again. He ran a hand over his face, smudging the blood all over his deadly pale skin. Then he aimed. And fired a fourth shot.

Immediately, the flames started devouring the room. They kissed the walls and the ceiling, licked the ovens and gas pipes. Victor watched the fire grow more and more ferocious and considered staying where he was until the whole place was set ablaze. It felt like a totally reasonable option. His father was gone. His mother was gone. He felt like dying too. Until his survival instinct kicked in. Victor felt the heat on his face and got out the house the very same moment the kitchen exploded. The detonation was so strong that the boy fell face down in the snow and when he eventually gathered enough strength to turn around and watch the fire, he had the brief feeling that this was what Hell looked like. A burning house, full of destroyed memories and dead people. 

Numb, empty as a shell, shaking in the cold, Victor Zsasz watched his life disappear in front of his eyes ad the fire consumed what had once been his home. When the flames became a raging inferno and that the first sirens started screaming in the night, Victor ran towards the woods, ignoring the pain in his feet and the maddening feeling that nothing around him was real. All he could think about was survival. He needed to survive. He knew what things would look like to the police : a sixteen year old boy with guns, drenched in blood, in front of a burning house filled with corpses ? He would be the next Ronald Junior DeFeo. 

Now sniffing and coughing, he stumbled into the woods and disappeared into the shadows of the night. At that second, Victor Zsasz knew two things about Gotham city : 

First. It had killed his parents. Like a monster, the city had swallowed them.

Second. He would make this city pay one day, if it was the last thing he did. They were all going down. And Maroni's head would be the first to roll. 

In the dark of the night the young boy ran and ran towards the Narrows, his mind playing his last moments of happiness on repeat as if torture him with the memory of all the things he had lost in the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !! :D what do you think ?


	4. Broken Clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and kind comments ! they gave me enough motivation to continue this fanfiction !

-Did you find him ?

-No sir. Not yet.

 

Carmine Falcone, King of Gotham, was sitting a large, leathery armchair. In front of him, a fire crackled loudly in the monumental fireplace which was, without a doubt, the centerpiece of the living room. Everything seemed peaceful. But deep down, nothing was.

 

The night before, Falcone had lost his closest friends. The two persons in Gotham he could truly rely on, without the shadow of a doubt. Trust was rare in this city. Friends could turn into foes in the blink of an eye. Children could murder their parents, parents, their children, all for gold or glory. Myriam and Ivan Zsasz had never been the type of person to sacrifice their family, nor to betray their friends.

 

It had gotten them killed.

 

Falcone had thought, for a while, that he was seasoned enough by Gotham's wars and plagues to not care anymore about people dying around him, but he was being reminded again, that the only moments you thought you were strong enough not to care were when the souls being taken didn’t matter. When they did, it always hurt the same.

 

He remembered everything about his partnership with the Zsasz, from Ivan's dark humor and Myriam's smile, to the birth of their only child.

Victor.

He had been there that night. And he would never forget it.

 

 

**16 years ago**

 

_Carmine Falcone, King of Gotham, was sitting a large, leathery armchair. There was no light or warmth emanating from the empty fireplace in front of him. He had let the fire die hours ago. It was night time but the man had no intention of going to sleep. Instead, he just sat there, looking at the cold ashes. Thinking about how his life was looking exactly like those dull, irritating little pieces of burnt wood._

 

_Two days before, he had lost his baby._

_He had lost Emmanuele._

_His second son._

_They had tried everything.Top cardiologists, foreign surgeons. Everything. But Emmanuele's heart was just not meant to work and he was no candidate for a transplant. Too young. Too frail and too fragile, like a little bird._

 

_The night he had died, Carmine had kissed his forehead and told him how proud he was. Then the baby had closed his eyes. He had gone to sleep...and never woken up. It was his wife's screams that had startled Carmine awake. Loud, desperate shrieks that sounded like the ones of a Banshee._

_He had found Elena on the floor, bawling and holding between her arms the small corpse of what had been their precious child. His heart had stopped working and for a moment, his parents' hearts stopped beating too. Elena had hold her baby, and so Carmine had hold his wife, allowing himself a single moment of grief and absolute pain._

 

_Since then, he had been nothing but a mask. The mask of a King with a crown on his head and a sword in his hand. He could not allow his emotions to overpower him, not when so many of his so called allies were waiting, patiently, like vultures circling under the sun. Elena was bed-ridden since she had discovered their son and she was slowly sinking into a pitch black depression, refusing to eat, clinging to her baby's clothes for dear life. Carmine didn't know if she would survive the loss of their 'angelito'. Mario had been sent away. He did not need to see his parents in such a state. He would spend the rest of the winter in their summer home, and return once things would have cooled off._

 

_But would they?_

 

_How could anyone go back to normal after such a tragedy?_

_How could a parent go on after burying their infant child?_

 

_-Don Falcone ?_

 

_He didn’t answer._

 

_-Sir, Ivan Zsasz called._

 

_Carmine sighed. People were intolerable to him these days but one person he was willing to talk to if necessary was Ivan. The man was dignified enough not to show any pity or unwanted compassion. His way of showing he cared was doing an excellent job and anticipating problems even more than usual. He was a true friend and so, Carmine said :_

 

_-What was the call about ?_

_-His wife has gone into labour, Sir. He wanted you to know._

_-...What hospital did he call from ?_

 

_A few minutes later, Falcone sat in the back of his car while his chauffeur started the engine and drove the Bently away from the property. The maids would look over Elena while he was away. He looked out the window, watched Gotham which glistened under the moon and was briefly reminded of its beauty. He took it all in. Beauty was absent from his life these days._

 

_As they approached the prestigious Saint-Michael’s Hospital, Carmine briefly felt his throat tighten. This was were Emanuele was born. He could have been jealous. Jealous of Ivan for getting a child when he was losing his. Jealous of the happiness that was blessing the Zsasz family when his own was falling apart. He could have felt the acid taste of hate and resentment in his mouth. But he didn’t._

 

_Ivan was pacing the rich waiting room furiously, like a caged lion. His blond hair, which usually wear perfectly combed, were a mess and he had lost at least ten percent of his composure which, for him, was pretty dramatic. He stopped his imperial march as soon as he saw Falcone and went to him. The two men briefly hugged and Carmine asked :_

 

_-Any news ?_

_-Things are...apparently complicated, said Ivan whose russian accent was far thicker than usual, her number of blood platelets is unusually low. They might not be able to stop the bleeding, should anything go wrong._

_-Why would anything go wrong, Ivan ?_

_-The baby won’t come out. It’s...stuck in an...unusual position._

_-Have they considered a c-section ?_

_-Out of the question. Myriam would not make it._

_-What if the situation doesn’t evolve in a positive way ?_

_-Then I might lose them both, said Ivan flatly._

_-What can I do._

_-Wait with me._

_-Very well._

 

_They sat in silence for more than two hours and when the doctor finally showed up, Ivan was so pale he could have passed as a ghost in a horror house._

 

_-Mister Zsasz. Mister Falcone._

 

_Carmine gave him a polite nod. This was the same surgeon who had brought his two sons into the world. He had his upmost respect, which was not something many people could brag about._

 

_-Your wife and child are fine._

 

_Ivan didn’t say anything, didn’t even blink. He was not the type of man to show his emotions and Carmine was one of the very few persons who were allowed to see anything else than the cold mask Ivan had built and perfected over the years._

 

_-I want to see them._

_-Miss Szasz just asked for you. This way, please._

_-I’ll wait for you here, Carmine said._

 

_And he did, until the early hours of the morning. When the door opened again behind him, he turned around slowly only to discover a young nurse, who was looking at him with respect and a hint of fear._

 

_-Mister Falcone? Mister and Misses Zsasz would like to know if you would like to join them and see their son._

 

_Carmine took a moment to think and nodded._

 

_-Follow me, please._

 

_The room was so pretty and well furnished you could forget you were in a hospital. Carmine entered slowly. He knew he was a privileged guest, allowed to witness the birth of the newest addition to Gotham’s royalty._

 

_Myriam looked tired, her skin was pasty and her hair disheveled. She was not beautiful in that moment, she was not glowing or exuding any kind of motherly grace. But she had never seemed fiercer and for that, Carmine admired her even more. She gave him a small smile, and Carmine came to her side, taking her hand and kissing it lightly._

 

_-Congratulations, he whispered._

 

_Her smile grew wider and she presented to him the baby she was holding close to her breast. For a moment, a brief second, just a heartbeat, Falcone’s breath was taken away._

 

_The child was big and plumpy, rolls of fat making him look like a little Michelin man or one of those chinese puppies with excess skin. His long eyelashes were fluttering as he breathed and a little bit of his tongue poked out of his mouth, his cheeks round as apples. His skull was already covered in hair, beautiful golden locks he could only have taken from his mother._

 

_He was beautiful, healthy, perfect._

 

_-What’s his name ? Carmined asked._

_-Victor, Myriam asnwered._

_-A fitting name._

_-He came into the world fighting. He deserves this praise._

 

 

_Ivan looked at his wife, then his son and his eyes softened in a way Carmine had never seen before._

 

_-I have a question for you, old friend, the mobster said._

_-I’m listening._

 

_Myriam and Ivan exchanged a knowing look and Carmine suddenly knew what was coming._

 

_-We live in a dangerous city. One day, you are alive and well. The next, you become a memory. Bringing a child into this world was a choice we do not regret. However we would hate to ever leave him to be alone and vulnerable. We have known each other for years. I trust you with my life. Would you protect my son’s if anything happened to us ?_

_-Victor needs a godfather., Myriam added, you are the only person I would ever trust with this responsibility._

 

_Falcone licked his lips. Maybe this was the sign he had been waiting for. Maybe this was God’s way of mending his wounds. Of giving him purpose. Carmine’s eyes fell on the baby._

 

_-It would be my honor._

 

**Present time**

 

Carmine’s nails dug into his palm. He had failed them. Failed Ivan and Myriam by not protecting them as a king should. Failing them by not finding their boy yet, failed Victor by not watching over him more diligently. At first, Carmine had been very present in the boy’s life, bringing him presents and bonding with him to the best of his abilities. However, as time went by, his ever-increasing power had kept him busier and busier until he was merely more than a distant uncle in Victor’s life. A man of power who sometimes visited and always brought a gift with him.

 

Falcone was not even sure Victor knew what he was to him. Ivan never discussed the topic of his own death, he was superstitious like that, and Myriam would have not wanted to upset her son with such considerations.

 

Victor probably didn’t have any idea that Falcone was anything more than his father’s business partner. Had he known, the boy would have come to him. But he hadn’t and now, the only Zsasz alive was probably freezing to death in the streets of Gotham.

 

Falcone had failed them all.

 

With a long sigh, he got up from his armchair and went straight for his bookshelf in order to find a book deep enough to drown his thoughts in.

 

He was about to open Spinoza when one of his men came in.

 

-We found him sir.

-Where? Replied Carmine while trying to keep his voice calm and composed.

-In the narrows. He won’t come to us though, and he’s armed.

 

That was to be expected and Carmine felt oddly proud. Victor was a fitting name, indeed.

 

-Prepare the car. I’ll talk to him personally.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all for chapter one, folks ! Hope you liked it ! :D


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